The Ever Glorious 14th Of July
by Baroness Emma
Summary: Upon July 14th, 1789, the people of France became the People of France, and with one change of flag and the coining of the shout "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite - ou la Mort!", a new order was begun in the annals of Europe.
1. Liberte

The beginning of the New Order from the point of view of Orczy's four favorite Frenchmen. An historically inaccurate account, but I hope it's pretty much canon. Besides, this concept would. Not. Leave. Me. Alone.

(^_^)

Have a great Bastille Day everyone.

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**The Ever Glorious 14th Of July**

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**Liberte. . .**

Strange dreams. The night had stalked with the phantoms of the mind - both real and imagined - and it was a night well suited for the red sunrise.

Armand St. Just woke to find that the world had changed. Strange perhaps, but true that he was of no illusions that it was for the better, but at least he knew it was not for the worse.

He hoped.

The night before he had heard the rumblings which issued from the general direction of the Bastille - like a giant attempting to digest a meal - and he had known then that France would never be the same. Time and Tide would forever run in the direction of New France and, he supposed, one would have to make the best of it.

Perhaps there was one less obstacle now, that could stand between him and Angele de St. Cyr. . .

He had seen the changes coming, and so had she - they had hoped for several years now that they would come in time for them.

Armand opened the window sash and drew in a deep breath of the morning air.

It was the air of freedom.


	2. Egalite

**Egalite****. . .**

"The Marquis de Chauvelin is dead forever now."

To any ordinary person it might seem odd that these were that very man's thoughts upon waking that day. But to any who truly knew Citoyen Chauvelin (admittedly such were few in number) they would not have expressed surprise. Merely, they would have shaken their heads, unsure whether they did so in pity, admiration, or shame, and then go upon their way, sobered for having thought of the man who always dressed in black.

The one who always was in mourning.

Chauvelin stayed with his usual morning routine on that day - The Day as it was - and he was perhaps the only one who was able to maintain a sense of perfect ease in the midst of the ensuing turmoil.

He sat behind a desk in a Spartanly appointed office, and saw all that wished to see him, and did all that his job required.

Soon now, more would happen. He could wait. He could indeed. For, was he not a Citoyen? Now, a Power of France? The blood of noblesse and the mind of a fox had combined in him to make him this - it was simply Fate that had decided that his name had had to die before his life could begin.

A hectic superiority coupled with a strange frantic loneliness welled in him. These feelings that day tied him forever to the Republic that had just been born under the sun-painted sky.

He was superior. He always had been.

But now his name and his mind would be paired with those who also had always been so.

At last he would have equals.


	3. Fraternite

**Fraternite****. . .**

Louis St. Just stood triumphantly on his balcony and surveyed the morning light that seared across the sky.

All his dreams would now come true. . .

Always, he had wished to put mere mortality behind him - always he had reached for that which was beyond his limit - always, he had desired to be a leader of men.

And now he would be.

A spearhead, a point, a chief and a leader of men - and men united with one goal and with one impulse - France.

For France he would conquer the world.

Yet. . . somehow there was one corner of his swelling heart that did not fill as is ought to have done with feelings of glory and of fulfillment.

There was one who would not care if he was leader of the very universe, if he could not thereby win her heart.

The wind of the morning blew the scent of last night's battle to his nostrils, and resolutely, he put Marguerite out of his mind.

It was brotherhood that mattered now.


	4. Ou La Morte

**Ou La Morte. . .**

Robespierre had not slept the night before. He had sat, fully awake, sipping coffee and staring at a piece of paper upon which had sputtered several smears of tallow from the lighted candle.

"Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite. . ." he murmured as he wrote.

The People needed a slogan, a catchphrase, something they could say and believe in. It was up to him, just now, to give the people this playing chip - an he did it properly, he knew he would have the chance that his ambitious heart had always wanted - to enter as a master into the game of Power.

Simplicity was the key - simplicity and misdirection. But use a simple tool and the audience does not know that it's attention is being distracted. . .

Robespierre was no fool. He knew that the game into which this would propel him was a deadly one. He would conquer, or he would die. Simple.

So very simple. . .

In one flashpoint of brilliance mingled with the arrogant paranoia which was to soon power a whole nation, Robespierre entered three final words on the paper before him. Simple, yet they would turn what until then had been no more than a common motto into the byword of an age.

He smiled. The duel to the death had begun.

The morning broke.

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_"Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite - ou la Mort!"_


End file.
